


love in the eyes

by Magali_Dragon



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Awkward Flirting, F/M, Fluff, Meet-Cute, Pandemics, different day, inspired by a trip I took recently and watched two people flirting with masks on, love in a pandemic, love on a plane sort of, same mags shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:22:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29910687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Magali_Dragon/pseuds/Magali_Dragon
Summary: Flying home to Winterfell after a work trip, Jon meets Dany, his seat mate. The five hour flight brings with it some pleasant conversation and he is pretty sure he likes her and as bad as he is with women, he’s going to ask for her number. Thing is...they have no idea what each other really looks like behind the face masks. Does it matter? Of course not. Love comes in the eyes after all
Relationships: Jon Snow/Daenerys Targaryen
Comments: 47
Kudos: 189





	love in the eyes

**Author's Note:**

> So this little thing I wanted to write back at Christmastime, when I traveled for first time during the pandemic and actually saw two people on my plane flirting back and forth and wearing masks. It made me OF COURSE think of Jonerys and I mentally noted it and then only recently started writing. 
> 
> Take care friends, this does contain real-life references to the ongoing pandemic and issues resulting from it, even though it is set in Westeros and I don't actually say 'COVID.' 
> 
> Finally, thank you to all our doctors and nurses who are still out there doing what needs to be done, same for the scientists working on vaccines and treatments, you are all amazing!
> 
> Sidenote-- this is truly just fluff. STRAIGHT FLUFF. It's also quite possibly the same fic I have written before but you know what? I don't care.
> 
> Enjoy!

* * *

Jon hated wearing a mask, but rules were rules, and he was nothing but a rule-follower. He was not looking forward to the long flight from King's Landing up to White Harbor, especially with the cloth covering his nose and mouth for five hours. He knew he should have shaved before, but he hated having a bare face; he looked like a tired child. Not that anyone would notice, but he would know.

He adjusted the strap around his ear, where it was digging into around his glasses. Thank gods Arya had found a brand of mask that he could wear in accordance with his uniform requirements and also not have his glasses fog up. The metal pinched slightly under the glasses' nosepiece, but it was far better than having to constantly take them off and wipe the condensation away. He fussed with the other strap, just for something to do while he waited in the narrow aisle way of the plane, while some first-class bitch whined at her— husband? Brother?— to get her purse down because she wanted more wipes for the "dirty seats."

If anything plane travel was cleaner than it ever had been, Jon thought to himself, frowning at the couple, who were wearing matching red and gold-colored outfits, clearly ready to go to some fancy Northern ski resort, judging from their state of dress as well. He hated those types, coming up to his turf and acting like they were servants. He thought he might have even recognized the woman, was that Cersei Lannister? She was some former has-been actress, if he remembered right. He wasn't much up on pop culture or anything.

The military took too much of his time, which was why he was even in King's Landing during the middle of a bloody pandemic. He exhaled hard, the black mask he wore puffing out slightly, shooting the couple a dirty look when they took off their red and gold plaid masks, fussing with them and complaining. A flight attendant— beleaguered by the looks of it— turned to her counterpart, both of them playing 'rock paper scissors', no doubt to decide who would have to deal with them.

Jon nudged them hard, drawing their attention to his uniform. He had become quite an expert at glaring above the mask, his gray eyes flashing. "Masks on," he ordered, his tone low, so as not to draw more attention to them.

"Who do you," the woman began, but the man interrupted, pushing her mask back at her. "Cersei, please," he said, weary. He forced a smile and nodded, moving back into his seat to allow Jon to pass.

The flight attendant smiled thankfully, and he nodded, moving down the aisle towards his seat. He hated that he had the middle, courtesy of the Westeros Military's travel policy, he had to get the cheapest ticket which did not afford seat selection and got whatever was left. He hoped, with it being a rather empty-looking flight, he would be able to move to the aisle or window if there was no one there.

At his row, he stowed his black duffel above and his backpack he dropped on the seat, sliding in quickly to push it under and wait; there was no one in either the aisle or the window. In fact, he hoped, seeing the remaining people boarding looking beyond his seat, he might have the entire row to himself.

One of the flight attendants stepped aside, just when he was sure the last person had boarded, and a small woman entered, breathing deeply, her mask sucking in and out from her face. She was laden down with items, an iced coffee in one hand, a carrier of some sort over her arm, a tote on her shoulder, a wallet in the other with boarding pass, phone slipping from her fingers, and a coat somewhere in between.

"Sorry," she apologized, knocking into people as she banged her way down the aisle, voice muffled. She cringed, tossing her hair over her shoulder— it was silver, he noted— accidentally hitting another person with her tote. "Oh gods, I'm sorry!"

Inside the carrier that resembled a messenger bag, he saw a head peeking out, an angry, yellow-eyed cat the size of a small dog scowling out at everyone. He closed his eyes, silently hoped she wasn’t in his row but knew there was no chance. Sure enough, the chaotic woman stopped at his row, confirmed the number above to her ticket and judging from the crinkle in her eyes, she was smiling.

“Hi! I think I’m next to you!”

Of course, he thought, getting up and letting her slide into the window seat. She hit him with her tote, the cat hissed, and she tutted, murmuring in Valyrian to the beast.  
He took the aisle since the attendant had closed the door, and glanced at the woman, who was starting to fall apart. He sighed, offering to take her bag. “Need some help?”

“Oh thank you!” She shoved one of her bags and coat at him and laughed, which sounded a bit like bells. “I’m sorry! I was late with my connection and Drogon was not happy.” She pulled her mask up enough to slip her straw underneath, sucking on her iced coffee. When she finished, she turned to him and offered her elbow. “I’d offer my hand, but times have changed. I’m Dany.”

As much as he wanted to shove headphones in and crash out for five hours, Jon elbowed her gently. “Jon.”

The bright violet eyes crinkled again, her mask rising up on her nose. "Nice to meet you Jon."

Politely, he retreated into himself, drawing his arm back and reaching into his pocket for his airpods and phone, intent on listening to podcasts or dragging out the heavy paperback he'd bought at the airport on the way down, a huge tome about the Targaryen dynasty that had looked interesting on its cover, but was a rather dry and boring tale. Pity, since the Targaryens were so fascinating, he thought, eyeing the book peeking out of his backpack under the seat in front of him.

He shoved one of the airpods in, just as the woman in the window seat moved to set her cat under the seat in front of her. He could see it happening, the teetering of the iced coffee in her hand, the phone in her other, the heavy cat in its bag, and her other hand coming to adjust her mask strap.

With the reflexes honed from years of military training, he shot out his hand, grabbed the iced coffee before it spilled over her phone and then onto the cat, at the same time he snatched up her phone with his opposite hand, about to drop straight between the seats. Jon suspected as clean as planes were these days, the crack between seats was likely as filthy as usual.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

He rescued the coffee and phone, while she snatched up her cat from making an escape out of his bag. Cringing behind his mask, he wanted to scold her, but she was a grown woman and well, travel sucked before there was a pandemic. "Got him?" he asked.

"Yes, thank you so much ! Drogon, you naughty boy!" She shoved him into the bag, zipping it shut over him. A pitiful yowl sounded from within.

"Is there a problem?"

They both looked up at the flight attendant, whose nametag said Gilly. Gilly looked ready to be done with her day, but they still had an entire flight ahead. Jon shook his head. "Nope, got it."

"Ma'am, your animal needs to be under the seat in front of you and kept enclosed at all times."

"Yes, I'm so sorry," the silver-haired woman apologized, profuse. It was honest, he noted, hearing the regret in her soft vowels, the musical tone in her accent. She pushed her hair out of her eyes, glaring down at the cat bag, hissing at him, the cat still murmuring plaintively within. "You hush, you have been a dragon all night and morning and we have five more hours and then I'll let you out. Now shush." She opened a pocket in the side of the bag and slipped a treat of some sort into the carrier. The cat silenced, lulled by food.

He was still holding her iced coffee, now sweating through the plastic cup onto his hand. "He alright?" he wondered, eyeing the bag, which had begun to rustle a bit as the cat settled. "Can he breathe in there?"

"Do you honestly care?"

His brows lifted, taken aback by her snapping. "Well...aye."

She pressed her hands into her eyes. "I'm sorry! It's been seven hells of a day...night...I don't even know where I am anymore." She dropped her hands, gasping. "Fuck!"

To his surprise, she fumbled in a pocket on her _other_ bag and removed wipes, cleaning off her hands, wiping down the seat around her, the tray, and the back of her phone. When she concluded, she removed a little baggie and set the wipes into them, before shoving it into the seat pocket in front of her. He blinked, still holding her things, and she finally turned back to him, taking them from him.

The plane in all this time had begun taxiing back from the gate and to the runway. He felt like the entire flight was over, just from the activity that had already occurred. Not to mention completely exhausted. The woman— Dany— slipped the straw under the mask, which he noted was not just multi-colored, but appeared to have dragons printed across it; he thought it was just swirls, but it looked like instead they were flying, bright pinks, teals, yellow, and purple. The straps were sparkly, but upon closer inspection, she had the actual straps around her ears and there was a chain necklace attached, draped around her neck.

Made sense, when she took off the mask, it would just bounce off.

But nope, he realized, looking, the straps were wrapped around buttons sewn into a headband, which was tied around her head, the main scattered braids and curls tumbling from it. It was actually very smart; her ears wouldn’t hurt after having the mask on for so long. Jon thought that was pretty clever, but he couldn't get away with such a thing. First of all, he was a dude, but second of all, the Westeros Military would never allow such a thing. They already hated that they had to wear masks anyway. Meant they needed to spend more money shelling out for the damn things.

He adjusted his, the strap rubbing against his beard, itching. Beside him, Dany chuckled. "Try wearing it for fifteen hours," she commiserated. "You'll really hate it."

"Thankfully it's only five," he said. _And then another three hours to Winterfell_ , he sighed. Unfortunately his uncle, who was the Northern premier, was against an international airport anywhere near Winterfell, for it would disturb the historical nature of the city. Could be worse, he could have been heading straight back to base at the Wall.

"I've been in the air for almost ten," she sighed, turning to gaze out the window as they lined up for takeoff.

 _ten!_ Jon almost asked her where she was coming from, but she had turned effectively away from him and the plane had fallen silent. That quiet lull as everyone locked in for takeoff, holding their breath and white-knuckling the armrests. He leaned back into his seat, closed his eyes, and a few moments later they were hurtling down the runway and soon lifting off into the air. He sighed, shoving his airpods in, and flicked on his phone, scanning through and couldn't settle on anything to listen to. The true crime, sports, and news podcasts were not interesting to him at the moment.

Instead, he flicked over to his text messages and saw a video his cousin had sent him, which he hadn't seen before he'd put everyone on airplane mode. He hit play, and his face lit up, seeing his favorite cousin— more like a baby sister to him— entering a room holding up her newborn daughter like she was the second coming of the Prince that was Promised. Or Princess, in this case.

"Behold! Your niece!" she boomed, while her partner, who was filming, Gendry, fussed behind the phone that she was being too loud and would wake the baby. Arya made a face and bounded over; after nine months of bouncing around, little Edwina did not make a sound. She stuck out her tongue and made a face. "Hurry up loser and get here, why'd you have to go South anyway? I'm going to guilt you forever for missing this."

"Arya come on, he's serving the country!"

"Oh Gendry sod off."

"No swearing in front of the baby!"

"She's heard seven hells of a lot more than 'sod off', like what the fucking fuck...."

The video ended, with Arya's wolf-dog Nymeria barking and leaping onto Gendry, the video cutting off. He grinned, unable to help himself, and watched it again, taking note that his niece had gotten the Stark dark curls, peeking under her gray cap with a wolf head sewn onto it. He tried to connect to the plane WiFi, to send back a message he was on his way, but it wasn't working yet. He scowled, drafting his response, and saved it.

Now he really didn't want to bother with anything, he just wanted the plane to _hurry up_.

"Your daughter?"

"Huh?" He took out the airpod, flushing slightly. Dany was studying him, her violet eyes twinkling. She was still sipping on the iced coffee; it looked like it was bottomless, he wondered how long she'd even been drinking it. "Sorry?"

"Sorry, I know you had your airpods in and that's code for 'leave the fuck alone', but I saw the video on your phone." She nodded to it. He glanced, realizing she'd seen Arya and the baby. "Is that your daughter?"

"Oh no, I suppose my...cousin? More like my niece," he explained. He felt a weird push, propelling his words forward, letting them tumble out. "I don't have any kids. I'm not married." He ran his tongue over his teeth. "Unattached, actually."

 _Why did I add that?_ he wondered. It was unnecessary. He could have just said it wasn’t his daughter in answer to her question and be done with it. That's what he'd learned in the Night’s watch. never answer more than you have to and here he was tumbling out everything. He surreptitiously glanced at her left hand, which was playing with the coffee straw. Despite a scattering of rings over her fingers, various shades of metal and gemstones, she did not have anything on her left ring finger.

He swallowed hard; why did it matter? It didn't.

Dany looked back at him again. He thought it was odd that all he could see of her face was her eyes; so much of a person's true intentions were in their entire face. He'd learned that in the Night's Watch too, all those classes on interrogation and interviewing. Learning to become a soldier, a spy. This whole wearing masks things had made his job infinitely more difficult in understanding peoples' true intentions. He focused on her eyes.

The plane had turned off the overhead lighting, all he was getting was from the person behind him who had flicked on their orange-hued reading light and the morning sunlight coming in through her window; she was the only one who hadn't immediately thrown down the shade. It was dim, but he could tell that her eyes were actually closer hued to lavender, lighter, with flecks of something else, but he couldn't quite see.

Where had he read about purple eyes? Somewhere, he wasn't sure. It wasn't common in Westeros at all. Then again, he had gray eyes. More like black, actually, but his license said 'gray.' So who was he to judge?

As if she read his mind, she leaned a little closer, tapping to her left eye. Her nails were painted purple. "Your eyes are gray. That's pretty cool. You notice these things now, you know? We're all wearing masks, makes you actually look people in the eye, I think people are becoming more aware of that sort of thing."

His brows lifted. He shrugged. "I suppose."

"Also we have to speak up, you notice that now? Like you have to actually speak to people too."

"Sure."

"Then again, I'm coming from Pentos by way of Vaes Dothrak and Meereen, so we've got far different rules there than you guys do here in Westeros." She cocked her head, one of the little silver clips in her hair tinkling as it knocked into another. "It's like a pandemic is nothing to you guys and not in a good way."

He furrowed his brow, unsure what to make of that statement. "How do you mean?"

"Oh you know, you guys took too long to get a handle on it, left everything up to the provinces and now look at the mess. Highest amount of hospitalizations and transmission rates in the Known World, meanwhile Braavos is a city of twice as many individuals in the North and it actually has a true handle on things. They did an actual lockdown, none of this half in and half out BS." She rattled on, her hand waving, clearly passionate about it. "Then again, you're also working with provinces some of whom are still living in the tenth century. I mean, the Reach is actually run by competent individuals, so they have low rates and actually know what they're doing, meanwhile what, the North is just pretending like nothing is wrong? They also think it's a fake thing. I mean, how can a virus that has killed millions be fake? But trust those Nexit idiots to think its fake."

She took a long pull on her coffee, darting sideways to peer at him. He merely lifted a brow and she shrugged. "What? You not used to someone speaking their mind?"

"I'm from the North," he said, wondering what her response would be. He absolutely agreed with her, 100% and in fact, his cousin Sansa was at the head of some of those Nexit conspiracy theories, courtesy of her podcast and radio program. Not to mention her desperate attempts to get the province to form its own country.

The violet eyes blinked, silent.

He grinned, corners of his eyes crinkling. he nudged at her with his knuckles. "It's alright, don't feel bad. You're right. The North seems to forget without the rest of the provinces they would only have snow to export."

"Thank gods," she laughed. "I thought you were going to kill me. I need to calm down sometimes, I just get very passionate about this." She smacked her palm to her temple. "Oh duh! I blame the jet lag, I had to fly from Vaes Dothrak to Meereen and then to Pentos then King's Landing...now I'm heading to White Harbor, I've been traveling like two days. Too much caffeine, not enough sleep, jet lag..." She prattle don, until she got to the point, but he thought it was kind of cute. The behavior would have irritated him in probably anyone else in the world, but she made it...attractive?

That wasn't the right word.

She pointed at the collar of his black fatigues, the traveling uniform for Westeros Military. "I should have noticed; you have the wolf on your collar there. Doesn't that mean North?"

"Aye, it's the symbol for the North." He was surprised she actually could see it, the thread barely a shade different from the fabric it was embroidered on.

"And that one means what?"

This question now directed to the other emblem on the other side of the collar, the double bars. "Means I'm a Captain," he said sheepishly. He hated divulging his rank. Very few people truly knew the military system and they often thought he was high-ranking, and while he might have a lot of men under his command, he was still just...Jon. He made a face. "I enlisted, but after a big scrape up in the early days...they decided to make me an officer."

"Isn't an officer a good thing?"

"Depends who you ask. It's lots of paperwork."

She laughed, turning further in the seat, her leg drawing up under her and hooking her foot under her opposite knee. She leaned a shoulder into the seat back, head against the cushion so she could face him directly. He found himself turning as well, as best he could; he was nowhere as small and spritely as her. "So what do you do in the Westeros Army, Jon Snow? That is your last name, right?"

"How'd you..."

Now it was his turn to feel dumb. She pointed now to his nametag, sewn in above the left breast pocket. "Snow," she said. "That's your last name. Pretty appropriate for a northerner."

He rolled his eyes. "Sorry, I don't have jet lag as an excuse. Just stupid."

"I doubt that, you're an officer!"

"Aye, my brain cells drop with each promotion."

"Or maybe it's all the snow and cold up there."

"No, just the raging virus among our hoax-loving locals."

They were going back and forth, so easily he barely noticed they had actually coasted out at the cruising altitude, the flight attendants making their way down the aisle with the first round of drink service. He chuckled, turning back around to her, and she had opened up her phone, checking something before she set it on her knee, turning back to him again.  
She tossed her braids over her shoulder. "So what brings a Northerner from the North down to King's Landing and then back up?"

"Oh are we already on the business or pleasure part of the conversation?"

"I would say so Jon Snow."

He was _not_ good with people in general, let alone women. In his entire life he had had only two significant others, both of whom dumped him because as they put it, he was more in love with the military than with them. He also thought it might have had something to do with the fact that his first girlfriend from high school, who _joined_ the bloody military with him, decided she had had enough and went over the Wall to serve with the Free Folk over there, and then his second girlfriend happened to _be_ in the Free Folk military and he never could be sure if she was only dating him to get information or if she actually did love him. Whatever it was, Val had ended it and returned Beyond the Wall.

Somewhere, he imagined, she and Ygritte had found each other and had created the "I Hate Jon Snow Fan Club." He would have to get a t-shirt, he mused, wondering what they were both up to, but in a nostalgic "huh, hadn't thought of that crazy loon in a while" way.

It was odd then, that for all his blunders with the opposite sex, not to mention his general grouchiness and preferred antisocial behavior, he was getting o so well with a complete stranger on an airplane. Especially one who had made such a very anti-Jon entrance, with her loudness, her bright colors, and her all around bubby attitude. He also didn't really like cats. Hers, thus far, had remained silent, although it was possible the thing was screaming over the sound of the engines and just could not be heard.

She was staring at him again. He shrugged. "What?"

"Business or pleasure?"

"Oh...um, both?"

"How is that?"

He was never one to give away his life, especially to strangers. Sometimes he was so private, his own family didn't know what was going on. It was a defense mechanism, honed from years of having to sit on the outside and watch his cousins. A muscle tightened in his jaw, but she didn't notice, courtesy of his mask. It suddenly felt oppressive. "Work there, live there, that sort of thing."

"Cool. Did you like King's Landing?" She smoothly bypassed his obvious discomfort in wanting to talk about what he was doing in the North. He did not get a chance to answer, because she carried on. "My family used to live there, moved away to Essos when I was a kid. I did some study abroad and attended seminars and things there, bloody hot, am I right? Then again, I'm a desert baby." She sucked on her drink; her eyes wide.

The never-ending drink rattled, ice hitting the sides as she stirred up the remaining bit of coffee in it. He shrugged. "It's alright. I was working."

"I think it's the humidity, that's what does it for me."

"Aye."

She glanced out the window, turning towards it, a hand going to touch the plastic pane. "It's so cool to be flying, knowing you're this far in the air, nothing but clouds underneath you."

"And a very hard ground, 35,000 feet below."

"That's dark." She laughed. "I was thinking more like, dragons...you know?"

He didn't really, but he supposed he didn't have to know, because she would tell him, which she did. She waved her hand, her rings catching the sunlight, sending a glimmer of color over; a witch casting a spell. Spellbound, she had him, if that was her purpose, listening intently. "I loved dragons as a kid, still do matter of fact. I love the stories of the Targaryen dragon-riders. I mean, they definitely existed, you can't deny that."

"Some people do," he found himself saying, just to hear her retort.

She whipped her head around, her silver brows forming a straight line, eyes darkening indigo. _Gold_ , he realized, the sun shining off her irises . That's what the flecks were, around her pupils. Gold. They were mesmerizing, especially when she proclaimed passionately. "Those skulls at the Red Keep belong to the Targaryen dragon riders, the kings and queens of the Seven Kingdoms. They're as real as you and I. It's in..." she trailed off, shrugging and turned her head away, voice dropping. "It's in the blood, some people say...of their...descendants."

The Targaryen descendants were almost non-existent, if he remembered right. He could check the big ole' paperback in his bag, but he wasn't sure if it was an updated version. They died out long ago. He shrugged. "I'm from the North, we have our stories too."

"Night King and Queen?"

"And then some. White Walkers, Others, whatever you want to call them. Then there are the direwolves."

"Direwolves don't exist."

"They do too!" It was his turn to protest, angry at the dismissive comment about an animal he knew for a fact had existed. He scowled, only to see her amused expression, the violet returned, dancing now above her mask. He'd been had. "Oh."

"Turnabout is fair play, Jon Snow."

Sheepish, he looked away, just in time for the flight attendant Gilly to approach with the drink cart. He took the small bottle of water she handed him, since there weren't much now by way of services, even on a five-hour flight, owning to the new health and safety protocols. He was grateful for it. He stowed the water bottle in his seat pocket for later, while the little dragon woman next to him declined anything, choosing to keep sucking on her now only-ice iced coffee.

They fell into comfortable silence, with her checking her phone, thumb skimming over the screen, and he did the same, although he wasn't sure why. There was no service and the WiFi still wasn't working. He fiddled with his airpod, debating putting it in, but something drew him again to the tiny woman next to him.

She was leaning over her cat now, her hand disappeared into the bag, stroking him. In the time he'd been looking away, she had put her airpods in, so he took the hint and did the same. He moved to listen to some music, but when he punched his thumb on the notes icon, nothing came up. He stared, confused, and turned the phone on, then back off. Several minutes later, no amount of trouble-shooting could bring back his _entire_ bloody music library.

"Fuck," he mumbled under his breath.

"Problems?"

He wanted to throw the now _useless_ phone down the aisle. "Aye, my entire library is gone!"

"I bet it didn't download from the cloud before you got on the flight and turned off WiFi," she said matter-of-fact. He was surprised, the answer making so much sense, and so quick. She lifted her shoulder, understanding. "Happened to me on my flight from Vaes Dothrak to Meereen. Bloody long without any music. I had to listen to this wanker Dothraki giant man named Moro try to tell me he would make me his khaleesi for three hours." She laughed again. "You're a considerably better seatmate."

 _I should think so_ , he thought, as the few Dothraki he had met had very little understanding of social norms and cues. Although their military was truly formidable. They were incredible sharpshooters, training on horses even if they never actually used them in battle anymore.

He huffed; irritated technology had failed him the way it did. They still had another four hours left of the flight, judging from his glance at his watch. He shoved the useless brick into his backpack, taking out his book. "Guess I'll just read." He rummaged in the side pocket, taking out his glasses, but after a few minutes of breathing with the glasses, they were fogging up. _Useless_ , he fumed, jerking them off.

Dany moved out of the corner of his eye, offering him something. "Here," she said. She gestured with the object, which upon closer inspection, was one of her airpods. She cocked her head, eyes crinkling even further, giving him a peek at the apples of her cheeks, which were pale pink under the jewel-colored mask. "Relax, I just wiped it down. You'll have to listen to my terrible taste in music, but it has to be better than trying to read through foggy glasses and also...." Her eyes narrowed, surveying the book in his lap with what he could only figure was distaste. "Your choice of reading looks like it would put you to sleep, unless that was the point?"

He picked up the tome, making a face at it, but with his mask on, she couldn't tell. It was more for him than anything. "It's very dry reading, I just grabbed it at the airport on my way down here. I usually like stories of the Targaryens."

"But you don't believe in the dragons?"

"I do," he protested, pointing towards her. "You were the one who thought I didn't."

"You joked about them!"

"Aye, well...." He had gotten himself into a pickle there. He laughed, ducking his head. "You took it so personally." It had been a little funny. At the time. Now he regretted it, seeing her annoyance conveyed in the screwed-up expression visible over her mask. _Damn masks_. He'd love to see her actual face.

She sniffed, taking back her airpod. "Maybe I won't share my music with you then."

"No, wait..."

And then he saw her mask pull over her face, which by his judgment, meant she was smiling. "Relax Jon Snow. I'll share the music. At least you think that book is...." She sniffed again, giving it a look he could only describe as "fiery." "Hokum."

"Hokum?" That was an odd word. He shrugged, poking the book. "It's just so dry. There's far more to Targaryens than it gives them credit for."

"Oh yeah?"

"Aye," he said, remembering stories that his Old Nan would tell him and his cousin Robb. There was also Maester Aemon, who trained him when he first got into the military, an ancient professor who many had forgotten was actually a Targaryen. He smiled fondly, remembering his mentor as a kind, gentle soul, not like the bloodthirsty conquerors history made his family to be. He chuckled. "When I was a boy, I used to think I was Aemon the Dragonknight. Or Daeron the Young Dragon."

She quirked her eyebrow. "Well Jon Snow, seems you have good taste in Targaryens."

"So it isn't hokum, it just doesn't give them the credit they deserve." He leaned forward and put the book away, flicking through some files that he supposed he could probably review. It wouldn't matter if he couldn't get his glasses to stop fogging up with the mask. The kind the military gave them didn't have the metal nose pincher which usually helped. He sighed, deciding against even trying to strain his eyes to read. It would keep until he landed.

He nudged the backpack under again with his foot, in the process the bulky object touched upon Drogon's carrier, the cat spitting, a paw shooting towards the mesh lining and trying to swipe at him. "Oh shush," she cooed, toeing the carrier.

Jon saw that her shoes were rather odd; unlike everyone around them she wore red clog-like shoes with a heavy rubber sole. It reminded him of hospital shoes nurses and doctors wore. It didn't seem to mesh with the loose pants, oversized sweater, and layers of sparkling jewelry and accessories she had draped around her. He said nothing; who was he to judge fashion? He wore exclusively black and when he wasn't in fatigues, he wore clothes that were close to it.

He offered his hand out. "If you don't mind," he said, sheepish once again. He followed up quickly with: "I'm also sure your music taste isn't terrible."

Dany giggled, dropping the airpod into his hand. When she did, her fingers brushed his, and he shivered, feeling a spark there. She didn't react and leaned a little closer to him, showing him her playlist. "I've been feeling the need for some hip-hop and rap, how's that sound?"

"It's your music." _Terrible, please, no._

It must have shown in his eyes, because she laughed again and instead selected something that just said 'Rhae Stuff' and leaned back to the window. Who was _Rae_? He pushed the airpod into his ear and was surprised to hear a pleasant crooning, a soft guitar strumming, the song unfamiliar, but relaxing and gentle. It was pretty soothing, he thought, smiling at her again and leaning into his seat, folding his hands in front of him.

Another glance sideways confirmed she had closed her eyes, using her scarf as a pillow between her head and the window. He could sleep anywhere, courtesy of his military training, and after a moment, the soft song in some foreign language he didn't understand had lulled his eyes closed, and he too was fast asleep.

* * *

The lack of music woke him with a start.

Jon blinked a few times, limbs heavy at his sides, the fuzzy fog of sleep fading from his vision and senses as he adjusted his bearings. He noted his head had fallen to the side, his mask pressed tight on his cheek, beard itchy. He reached up and took out the airpod from his left ear, checking his watch in the process.

He'd been sleeping for about two hours. _Thank gods_ , he thought. They didn't have much left in the flight. He shifted, peering sideways at his seatmate, who was still asleep. Her phone had fallen off her lap into the empty middle seat and he picked it up, carefully resting it on her tray table with the spare airpod. In moving her phone, the lock screen flashed. The image on it was of Dany taking a selfie, between two men, with the same silver hair and purple eyes, as much as he could see from his position. One was smiling wider and the other looked more to be smirking, his face thinner and angrier. Their silver hair was pulled from their faces, the older one in a ponytail and the other in a half-up/half-down style.

In the quick flash from the phone, he'd seen two things that were curious to him. One, the background looked like ruins, with deep green vines and fronds, the sky somewhat ashy. He didn't recognize it from anything he'd seen before. The second was that all three of them were wearing some sort of silver dragon symbol. Dany's hand was in the shot, a ring with a dragon holding a pearl on her index finger. The younger man had a necklace with a silver dragon charm on it and the oldest was wearing what looked like an old-fashioned brooch on his lapel of a three-headed dragon.

They really seemed to like dragons, he thought, leaning back into his seat. The move must have shifted the seats, because Dany stirred, blinking slowly, and coming to her senses. She stretched, taking out her airpod. Yawning, she glanced at her watch, the digital face lighting up. "Oh wow, I can't believe I slept that long."

"Seems like you needed it, all those long flights," he said. He pointed to the airpod. "I put it there. Also your phone."

"Oh thanks." She stowed the airpods into their case, smiling and leaning back again. "So only two more hours left. Where do you go after this Jon Snow?"

"You know, you don't have to say my full name."

She adjusted her mask, which had begun to ride up over her chin. "What? Jon Snow? I like it like that. Anyone ever tell you that? It suits you. Jon Snow." She frowned. "Snow? Isn't that a..."

"Aye," he answered before she could ask. He silently told her to leave it and she got the hint, shrugging. He sighed. "Sorry, I just hate it. The North still..."

"Lives in another world? We’ve been over this, they currently reject science, so why wouldn't they also blame children for their parents' sins?" She rolled her eyes, picking up her phone and flicked to a picture, turning it to him. "My brothers."

It was another photo of the two men with her, all three in front of another set of ruins. "They're..." He wasn't sure what to say, but Dany cut him off, explaining.

"They raised me, basically. I was born to parents who hated each other, Jon Snow. They both died when I was a baby, but you know, my last name is still theirs. My brothers were my parents. It's just..." She sighed, rolling her eyes again and waved her hand. "These things in Westeros are so strange to me. Bastard names and stuff. It's so old-fashioned." She drew her knees up, turning again in her seat so she was closer to him. "If I were in charge, I'd get rid of it."

"You should run for office," he teased. He had made peace with the North's archaic rules. It didn't bother him as much as it used to. He realized then they hadn't even talked about what she did for a living, although they'd been over him. "So what is it you do?"

"I'm..." Dany began, but Drogon interrupted her, yowling loudly. She made a face and reached down, taking the carrier out from under the seat, unzipping it and leaning in, tutting, speaking in the same foreign language she had earlier.

While she addressed the demon cat, he thought about the last time he'd brought Ghost out of the North. They'd taken two trips out, once to the Vale to go hiking in the mountains and his big softie dog had loved it, traipsing through the stone and around the cliffs. Then there was the time they'd taken a massive road trip down to Dorne, to the Red Mountains when he would be on long-term assignment to the Dornish military on an exchange, and unfortunately on that particular trip, Ghost had not been a happy camper. It was too hot, and his white fur was constantly stained a weird reddish brown from all the dust. He'd been miserable.

The idea of his dog on a plane had him chuckling to himself.

"What's funny?"

"What?"

Dany had an eyebrow up, the cat back under the seat. "Was just wondering what was so funny."

"Oh," he said, realizing he must have looked like an idiot, laughing to himself. He reached for his phone, like a proud father, and brought up pictures of his dog. "I was just thinking of this guy on a plane."

The reaction of anyone to his gigantic half-wolf, half-dog was the barometer for whether Jon liked a person or not. He should have known, therefore, when he brought Ygritte home the first time, she'd yelped at the size of the dog and immediately made him send Ghost away. It was also a clue, when Ghost had ignored her and kept trying to get between the two of them. He thought the pup was jealous, but lo' and behold he'd been warning him the whole time. Val liked Ghost, which made Jon like her more, but then later she'd started getting annoyed with the dog. Turned out Ghost had begun to get stand-offish with her. And then Jon learned she'd been cheating on him.

Ghost was a smart one.

So it shouldn't have surprised him when Dany— woman who brought her demonic cat on several long-haul cross continent plane trips— yanked his phone so hard out of his hand, he thought she had ripped his arm from the socket, and immediately squealed: "He's so _fluffy_!"

"Aye," he laughed. "He is fluffy. Sheds like a bitch though."

"Oh tell me about it, majority of all my clothing has 'eau de Drogon.'" She zoomed in, the photo in question one of Ghost sitting proudly in the snow, after having downed a dangerous pinecone from the tree. "Oh so cool! His eyes are red, he's albino, yeah?"

"Aye, he is." Not many noted that at first look. Usually they were scared of him. "He's a big softie."

"Oh gods, he's adorable. Do you have more?"

So he spent the next half hour scanning through photos of Ghost, showing her Ghost's visit with Father Yule at the holiday time, the visit with the Springtime Equinox Rabbit, and the Great Pumpkin in autumn. Also many photos of Ghost swimming, running in snow, and a few where he was in his military gear, on high alert at the top of the Wall. One of Jon’s favorites was Ghost's official portrait, in his K-9 black vest, his demeanor serious, standing in front of the Westeros flag and the North flag.

Dany cooed. "He's so proud. So regal. That's amazing, he's also a working dog?"

"Aye, Night's Watch is..."

"Oh you're Night's Watch?"

No one would know until he put on his beret when they got off the plane, with the Night's Watch emblem on it, a simple black shield. "Aye," he answered. He shifted; most people turned off immediately, knowing he was part of the military's super-secret organization.

Dany, being the outlier he was learning her to be, simply raised her eyebrow, and did he...did her...he swore her pupils dilated a bit, her voice dropping. "That's very impressive."

He swallowed hard, praying his nerves didn't start showing in his eyes. Since that's all they could see of the other. "Thanks...I think?"

"No, it is, seriously. You guys do some incredible things, what little the world knows of you of course," she teased. She tore her gaze from his, back to the picture of Ghost, and flicked to another, which he cursed inwardly for not deleting, of him and Ygritte. She let go of the phone like it was on fire. "Oh, sorry."

"Sorry," he mumbled, snatching it back. It was just the two of them at the Wall, but they were in civilian clothes, her head on his shoulder, their hands together, clearly not 'just friends.' He sighed, deleting the picture. "Don't know how that one snuck back in."

"Huh?"

"It's my ex," he explained. "A very long, long ago ex."

"Oh." Dany was quiet a moment and shifted again. She tucked a braid behind her ear. "So Ghost at the Wall...he seems like he would like it up there, all cold and snowy and stuff? I'm not looking forward to that part of my trip."

"You're going to the Wall?" It wasn't so much a big deal. There were portions of the Wall that had become tourist spots, like Grey Guard and the Night Fort. They were for thrill seekers who wanted to go base jumping, climbing, and skiing, or try to spend a night in the Night Fort before the ghost of the Night's King chased you out. Then there was the main base, Castle Black, where he spent the vast majority of his time, and East Watch, a huge border crossing to Beyond the Wall.

Dany nodded, pushing his phone back to him. She picked up her tote, flicking through, taking out some official looking papers, scanning them. "Yes, I am going up to Eastwatch, I have to quarantine three days and have a negative test, but that shouldn't be a problem." She tapped her mask. "I always follow the rules."

"Me too."

"Of course, military man such as yourself."

"I'm going to see my niece," he said, repeating what he said earlier in the trip. He hated that he would need to quarantine away, but he wanted to make sure he didn't potentially bring anything over to the newborn. It made no sense to wander around with a newborn without a mask, pretty pointless if Arya and Gendry were following rules and he just showed up. "Then it's back to work."

"I'm looking forward to seeing some of the sights."

"Where were you planning on going?"

"Well, I want to take a trip to see Craster's Keep, the haunted farm site, I love that stuff."

"Oh don't bother." He waved his hand, making a face, but she most likely wouldn't be able to see it under his mask. "That's such a tourist rip off. You should go to Hardhome, there's a small dock there, like a cliff, it's where the Night King allegedly rose up most of his Army of the Dead, if you believe that stuff..." he trailed off at her eyebrow raise. "And of course you do, "he finished, laughing. He grinned, hoping it showed. "And so do I, don't worry. Grew up on those tales in the North."

"Hang on, let me write this down."

A few minutes later, he was telling her the best places to go, to eat, and visit, if she could. With the virus shutting down most things, it would be difficult to truly enjoy all that the North had to offer, but as she had rightly indicated earlier, the North also wasn't playing by the rules. If she masked up, she would be alright, he suggested. Her brow wrinkled at one point, which had him slightly concerned. "Alright?" he wondered.

"Oh yeah, sorry, just..." She twirled her pen around, tapping it against her cheek. She huffed, her mask popping out slightly as she blew out a hard breath. "I heard that they don't really like Valyrian."

 _So that was the language she was speaking_. It made sense all of a sudden, the silver hair and violet eyes. "You're Valyrian?"

"Yes," she answered, wary. A set of shutters closed over her irises. He had no idea truly how much you could start to know about a person just by studying their eyes. Especially with this woman. Every emotion was there. Her forehead marred by her frown, she cast her eyes downward towards the notebook she had on her knee. "I heard that the Northerners don't really care for those from Essos. Especially the ones who look...different."

 _Gods I could murder Sansa_. His stupid cousin had helped perpetuate that with her damn pulpit and blasting out all that crap about Northerners being superior. He didn't recall them being as xenophobic when he was young, not until the last few years, part of it being Sansa coming to power with her quest for political dominance. He shook his head. "Honestly, it depends on the person, but I believe you’ll be fine, especially going to Eastwatch. The Free Folk are really good, they love anyone who the North doesn't."

"Gee thanks."

"No I'm sorry I mean..." Gods, he sucked at this shit . He pushed his palms into his eyes, suddenly tired. He sighed, wishing he could take off the bloody mask so she could see his whole face and understand. "I don't mean it like that, just that...honestly, it's overblown. Northerners are lovely people. You'd love my cousin Arya, she studied in Braavos and her husband is from the Stormlands."

Dany fussed with the edge of the notebook, picking at a stray bit of paper. "I think it will be alright. I don't think I will have much time for play anyway. I'll be working."

"Working?"

The chime above their heads drew their attention up, the captain coming on to announce they would soon be beginning their descent into White Harbor and there might be some turbulence, so get up while they could.

Dany took the opportunity to stand up, the lavatory signal going green. "Sorry, tons of coffee."

"Oh sure." He stood, but she'd already tried climbing over him, at the same moment the person in front of them moved in their seat, jostling her hand— which had been on the headrest for balance— forcing it up. The lack of balance now had her tumbling over him, hands going straight onto his shoulders and her knees collapsing on either side of his hips, placing them crotch-to-crotch and chest-to-chest, their masks the only thing keeping their faces from touching.

"Oh!" she exclaimed.

He stiffened, hands grabbing her hips to keep her from falling forwards again, this time courtesy of her thigh knocking into the button on the armrest throwing his seat back, jarring her again into him. He lifted his eyes, which had been on their practically joined bodies up to meet her gaze. He smiled weakly, hoping it conveyed. "Whoops."

Thank the gods, she _giggled_. She leaned back, her shapely bottom on his knees, and he tried not to think of how warm she happened to be in his arms, which was saying something, as the fatigues were made of thick cotton wool blend.

"Sorry," she said, pushing her hair over her shoulder. She slung her leg over, standing up and glanced down at him. The look in her eyes signaled something....he didn't know. Her pupils were black, blowing out her irises, and now the lavender had taken on an indigo color, all the gold flecks drowned out. "Maybe you should buy me a drink first Jon Snow."

_Huh?_

His jaw dropped, surprised, but she had turned and moved quickly down the aisle to the lavatory. He turned slightly in his seat; a bit shaken from the encounter. _Was she flirting?_ He drew back, alarmed. _Was I flirting this whole time?_ He closed his eyes. Could curse himself to the seven hells and back. He didn't even want to talk to her, he wanted to just be left alone to his own devices this entire flight, and here he was apparently flirting with a complete stranger.

_Dany._

Dany, whose face he hadn't even seen. How did you flirt with someone when you couldn't even see their face? It wasn't done. No, it was just being nice. Harmless chatter to pass away a five-hour flight, ending with a bit of a physical mishap courtesy of annoying passengers and a bit of turbulence. He'd blame the weather for it. That's all.

He took out his phone, placing it in his breast pocket so he could grab it once they landed, and he could call Arya. Tormund, one of his Free Folk friends, was picking him up and he'd be quarantining with him until he could see Edwina. The idea was horrifying— Tormund never met a hygienic action he liked...and that was it. Once he was done quarantining, they'd go to Eastwatch, he planned out, everything filing away in his head. Then it was work.

Reaching into his bag, he took out a couple of the file folders, flicking through his orders, some of the emails back and forth between his boss Colonel Mormont and the others. He was in charge of a group that would be going over the Wall to assist with humanitarian efforts. Only the Night’s Watch was entrusted with the border areas. Sometimes they tended to go bad really fast. He scanned through a few things, figuring his eyes were too tired to bother straining, and he closed it up, putting the folders away just as Dany returned.

She had cleaned up a little, her hair arranged neater than it had been, the headband her mask attached to smoothed out. He stood this time and stepped out, to avoid any more mishaps, but she turned to face him, sliding in so that her front was against his, brushing rather teasingly against him. _Or am I imagining things?_ It was possible it was oxygen deprivation, because right now his mask had sucked into his mouth, his inhale so deep the fabric might as well have made residence in the back of his throat.

“Sorry,” she said again, not at all sorry, judging from the way her eyes lifted his eyes, coyly peering through her thick dark lashes. She sat back down, buckling her seatbelt.

An ‘okay’ came out of his mouth, mumbling, but she didn’t hear him. He closed his eyes, schooled his body to _stop_ behaving like a green boy who had never been on a date, and to focus on the fact that she was a complete stranger despite their enjoyable conversation throughout the flight and this was not some sort of cheesy romance movie Arya had made him watch so they could make fun of it.

The fasten seatbelt sign chimed on, thank gods, and he slid a look over to Dany. She was busying herself gathering up her items and checking on her cat. He shifted in his seat, looking around the person in front of him—a gigantic man with a scar down half his face who had been diving into a chicken the earlier part of the flight so he wouldn’t have to wear his mask—trying to figure how long it would be before they could get off the plane.

“Doing the calculation of how long it will take you to leave?”

He laughed, in spite of himself. This woman had him pegged. “How’d you know?”

“I do it myself,” she admitted. A vanilla scent assailed his nose and he wrinkled it, looking over to find her rubbing lotion into her hands. She offered it to him. “Here, the hand sanitizer is important, but destroys our skin.”

“I think I’m good.”

“Nonsense, here.”

Before he could say no, she was squirting some lotion into his hands. He frowned, saying nothing. He rubbed it in, realizing it felt good, his dry hands screaming in relief, the consistent achy burn on them fading away. “Thanks,” he said, surprised. “That actually works.”

“I know my remedies.” Dany exhaled, gazing out the window, speaking a little louder over the sound of the engines turning over, their descent imminent. “It’s gorgeous out there! Look at all the snow!”

“You get any snow in Essos?”

“Some in the northern regions, near Ib, for example, but definitely not in Meereen.” She sighed. “I hope I packed enough warm clothes, but I don’t think I’ll be leaving work often.”

He was going to ask again what she did, but Gilly the flight attendant popped over to take any leftover garbage, with Dany passing over a sealed bag with used wipes and tissues. _Very prepared, this one._ “You should be in the military,” he said. “Always prepared.”

She laughed. “Oh I don’t think so. I tend to buck all forms of authority.”

Jon smiled; it reminded him of Arya. Dany didn’t say anything else, enraptured by the Northern landscape and he let her watch. It was her first time in the North, she should experience it. He closed his eyes, clearing his mind as the plane lowered in the sky, until they were touching down, wheels bouncing on the tarmac. The moment it did, he whipped out his phone, clicking off airplane mode, to discover numerous texts from Arya and Tormund both.

He responded to everything, Dany doing the same. The plane came up to the terminal, the sign flicking off, everyone waiting to deplane. He was shocked at how everyone _actually_ waited for their row, so as not to gather in the aisles. He lifted his backpack up when it was their row’s time, slicking it over his shoulder and opening up the overhead, taking down his duffel and Dany’s bag. “Let me take him,” he said, taking Drogon’s carrier from her while she climbed out, fumbling with her coat and tote.

“Thanks,” she said, breathless, accepting the other bag he handed her from the overhead.

They disembarked, saying nothing, and once he was in the terminal, he cut her off, still holding onto the bag containing Drogon, who was howling, protesting his continued confinement. “The baggage claim is this way, it’s a weird airport, I’ll show you.”

“Oh sure.” She pulled her coat on and trotted next to him. “Are you sure I can’t take him?”

“No, you’ve got your hands full, I’ve got him.” Jon didn’t want to say goodbye to her just yet, if he was going to be honest with himself. He rarely was, so this was new. He led her down the long corridors and escalator to the baggage claim. There were only a few of them, one already turning, and he spotted her bag immediately, a black hardcase with tons of stickers from Essos all over it, including a bright red tie on the handle.

Passing over Drogon, he yanked the suitcase off the conveyor belt, lifting the rolling handle. “Thanks so much,” Dany said, hooking her tote around the handle. She slung Drogon’s messenger bag strap cross-wise over her and dragged the bag over to one of the exit doors, peering out. She smiled; her eyes almost disappearing behind her cheeks. “You’ve been so nice Jon; I don’t think I’ve ever been on a flight that I actually didn’t really want to end. Thank you.”

He swallowed, his throat constricting. “Um, I…” _Do it Jon, just do it._ He reached into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled receipt from his coffee in the King’s Landing airport. “Here, let me just…” In his bag, he took out a pen, scribbling his cell phone number and name. He passed it to her, flushing bright red, thankful she couldn’t see behind his mask. “If you need anything you know, while you’re here.”

“Someone to lodge complaints about the Northern approach to the virus?” Dany teased. She took the receipt and after a moment, she tore off one end of it and took his pen wordlessly, scribbling hers.

He took it and saw her handwriting was big and loopy. _Kind of like her_ , he thought affectionately. “You sure you don’t need a ride? I can get my friend to take you where you need to be.”

“No I’m good, I need to go straight into quarantine.” She pointed towards a young man holding a sign that said ‘Daenerys T.’ “I think that’s my ride.” After a moment, studying him, she rose up on her toes and to his surprise, she kissed his cheek. Or rather, her mask bumped up against his mask. She fell back to her feet, wagging her finger. “If I get sick, I know who to blame.”

He laughed, lifting his hand up and watching her walk away, but not before she tossed a look over her shoulder and waved her hand, wiggling her fingers. Drogon yowled loudly. He tipped his fingers in salute to the cat, watching them leave the airport. He consulted the number in his hand, staring at her pretty writing. _Dany_ , he thought, rolling the name around in his head. _Daenerys_ , that’s what was on the plaque from the car service.

It was a beautiful name, just like how he believed her to be.

“CROW!”

His eyes fluttered shut, hearing the booming voice behind him, turning in time to be assaulted headfirst by a massive red-headed and red-bearded idiot wearing a mask that had a bear swiping out. “Tormund,” he sighed.

Tormund dropped his mask, waggling his thick dark brows. “Like it? I wanted one that said, ‘Bear Fucker’ but they wouldn’t print it.”

“Can’t imagine why.”

“You freeze your balls off yet? Come on, let’s go. Got someone eager to see you.”

That could have been anything, which left Jon in a suspended state of fear, until he got to Tormund’s truck and laughed, rushing toward it to let out Ghost, whose plume of snowy fur on his tail waved around so fast it might as well have been a white hurricane. He hugged his dog, ignoring the looks of people giving them strange looks, and yanked off the mask so Ghost could lick his face, grateful to finally be free of the thing after so long.

Ghost whined, beating him with his tail and knocking his head into him, until he paused, his nose burying into his palm, tail stilling. “Sorry lad,” he muttered. “I met a cat, but don’t worry, I think you two would get along.”

After Ghost finished sniffing him up and down, he hopped back into the truck, Jon joining him, and leaned back in his seat. He waited a moment and then took out his phone, typing quickly to Arya that he was on his way to Tormund’s and couldn’t wait to see her once his test was negative, then he paused, thumb hovering over the new contact he just added.

He chewed the inside of his cheek, wondering if it would be too presumptuous. Pathetic, even. They _just_ met. They were totally strangers and had _just_ said goodbye. If he did this, maybe she’d think he was a stalker. Some sort of freak. He took a deep breath, closing his eyes. _Just do it._ Like he had when he gave her his phone number in the first place. He typed fast, before he could chicken out, and quickly sent a text.

_This is Jon, I wanted you to know that Ghost was not happy to smell Drogon on me. I do hope you’ve let that dragon free now._

A second later, his phone buzzed, and he glanced down, panicking that it was a fake number and he’d gotten an undeliverable message, but instead, he was greeted with a photo of a very angry black cat sticking his head out of a bag, in the backseat of a black town car, hissing.

_Long live the dragons!_

Jon smiled, about to reply, but Tormund distracted him, and he shoved the phone away, making a note to text her later.

* * *

“Oi! Over here you piece of fucking Southern shit!”

Jon closed his eyes, counted to five, and pinched the bridge of his nose, just above where his mask pinched in. It had been days of this and eventually someone was going to retaliate against Tormund. Tormund could handle himself. He just didn’t need the paperwork. He moved back to the truck, taking another box and passing it off, the valuable PPE unfortunately requiring military transport from across the border into the Free Folk territory.

He climbed up into the back of the military truck, grabbing the clipboard from his friend Sam, who was one of the military doctors assigned to their unit. “We finish this round?” he asked, reaching back to adjust his mask strap. He scribbled his name on the bottom, verifying the items had gotten where they needed to be, and ripped off the second copy, passing Sam the clipboard. _Fucking military and their triplicate_ , he thought, folding up his copy for the records back at their base and shoved it into his pocket.

“Yes,” Sam said, climbing out of the truck with him, but not as easily. Jon glanced towards the hospital, a rudimentary setup out here between Eastwatch and Hardhome. It was the best the Free Folk had, unfortunately. He patted Sam’s shoulder, walking off towards the hospital, Tormund coming up to join him.

They had their temperature checks at the door, showing their wristbands that they were allowed access, and Jon made towards where the equipment would be brought in and stored, to ensure it made it to its final destination. He had only been there a few days and so far, the hospital ran like clockwork, better than even some of the best in Westeros. He turned a corner, at the same time someone else did, not even realizing it until they’d crashed into each other.

“Whoops!”

“Oh shit, sorry!”

Jon grabbed the person who had crashed into him, so they didn’t topple over; they were very short. “Gods, I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Not watching where….” His eyes widened over top his mask, hands still gripping the other person’s elbows. He caught sight of a mass of curly silver hair and then dropped his gaze down to meet the gaze over top a brightly patterned mask.

_Violet eyes._

Singular eyes, the color of lavender fresh-blossomed, and a dragon-mask with a silver chain and the straps wrapped around buttons sewn into a wide red headband.

_Couldn’t be…_

But it was…it was _Dany_.

“Dany!” he exclaimed.

She laughed, her hands on his forearms, wearing blue gloves to go with her blue scrubs and PPE robe, the red clogs she’d had on the airplane on her feet. He realized why he thought they were familiar. They were the kinds that he only really saw on doctors or nurses. “Jon! Oh my…what are you…”

Since the plane, a week ago, they had texted on or off, but work and visiting with his family had cut into any texting time. Not to mention she had said she would be busy and don’t worry if she went offline a bit. Since they didn’t know each other, he accepted it, and now everything fell into place. He beamed, wondering if she could tell with the mask over his face, how _elating_ it was to see her.

“What are you doing here?” he asked.

Dany pointed around, waving her finger. “You’re looking at it. I’m a doctor. Coming up from Essos to help put into place some of our virus protocols that have worked better than the shit you lot have tried.” The crinkling in the corners of her eyes, the way her cheeks rose up, she was kidding, but he knew also from her rants on the plane she was also somewhat serious. She laughed again, the tinkling sound warming his heart. “I have to get back to work, but I’m off in like an hour for a few minutes, we can grab a coffee, alright?”

“Alright,” he said, dazed at seeing her again, his brain a little slow on the uptake, piecing things together. “See you.”

Dany ran off, her red clogs making no sound on the linoleum floor, leaving him with Tormund, who was gazing at him with sparkling blue eyes, a knowing look in them. He boomed a laugh, clapping his hand on his shoulder, practically knocking him down. “Little Crow! Didn’t know you had it in you! You fuck her yet?”

Jon closed his eyes, counted to five, and hurried away, not answering Tormund. It was easiest, honestly, that way.

And quite eager for the hour to be over.

* * *

“So sorry! Got caught up with stuff.”

“Don’t be,” Jon said, waiting at a coffee station he assumed she meant, in a now empty patient waiting area, as no one was allowed to be in the hospital unless they were getting treatment. He gestured towards the coffee station, which had been shut down, and lifted his brow. “Not sure how we’ll have coffee.”

Dany laughed, shoving her hands into her scrub pockets. She’d removed the robe and underneath she had on a short-sleeve scrub shirt with a long-sleeve waffle-print shirt underneath that, patterned with red and black swirls. She shifted on her feet, crossing her arms over her chest, nodding towards the hospital. “Come on. I’ve got a hookup.”

They went back into the hospital, Dany leading him to a door marked ‘Employees Only’ and held her finger up to her lips, pushing it open and into what he assumed was a doctor’s lounge. “Here we go,” she said, going over to a coffee bar setup, moving an electric kettle off a stand and to the sink. “It’ll take a moment and it’s instant.”

“That’s fine, I’ve been living off military food last couple days.”

“So what are you doing here?”

While she prepped the coffee, he explained briefly that he was ferrying equipment and supplies across the border as part of a ‘good will effort’ and after a couple weeks, he’d be back across the border and likely back to Winterfell to see his family again. “After another round of testing and quarantining,” he sighed.

“I get that.”

“How long will you be here?” he wondered, his heart jumping. _Don’t get too excited, she’s here working, that’s all._

Dany poured instant grounds into a paper cup, speaking over the sound of the kettle hissing. “I’m here for about a month, actually. But I’m willing to stay longer.”

“Where’s Drogon?”

“Ha, back in my rental, he’s losing it. Too cold for his little Essosi bones.”

“Little bones?” he mused.

She laughed again, pouring in water now, leaning a hip against the countertop. “Fair enough. Where’s Ghost?”

“At base.”

They fell into a comfortable silence while she finished up making the coffees and went to sit at a table in the center of the room, Dany nudging his cup towards him. He reached up and paused, lifting his eyes at the same time she lifted hers. It was pretty funny, he suddenly realized, sheepishly smiling. They were about to take off their masks for the first time.

Which meant they’d finally see each other’s faces.

He unhooked his mask, slowly letting it fall, so it was hanging on his right ear, and watched as she did the same, revealing her face that had been hiding this entire time behind the cotton fabric. He had built it up in his mind, wondering exactly what she looked like, but nothing prepared him for the face that appeared. She was fucking _beautiful_.

It was mesmerizing, how every feature was perfectly lined up with the other, her eyes and her straight nose and her wide, full lips, which pulled back over even white teeth. When she smiled, as he had seen enough of with her mask on, her eyes definitely scrunched up sure, but also a tiny dimple even appeared near the corner of her mouth, and it took up her entire face, illuminating her eyes, shining off her hair, and stopping his heart.

He couldn’t help the ‘wow’ that slipped his lips, a hushed whisper, and she cocked her head slightly, still grinning, when she heard that. He swallowed hard, gesturing up to his face. “So here you go. This ugly mug.”

“Oh ugly is not a word I would ever use to describe you Jon Snow.” She licked her lips; the move caused fire to shoot through his body and cause his limbs to go numb. She scrubbed her fingers down her chin. “I like the beard. I knew you had one, could see it a little, but wasn’t sure if hiding underneath you had a Van Dyk or a handlebar mustache or what.”

He laughed, reaching for his coffee and lifted it up, sipping quickly. “No, can’t say I ever considered one of those.”

“You should try it; with the masks I think it’s time everyone can test out whether they want a nose ring or something.” She wiggled her brows, laughing again. “But you look very nice Jon Snow. Captain Jon Snow.”

“Doctor…” he began, to throw back her name. He trailed off, realizing he didn’t know her last name. He probably could have checked. A name like _Daenerys_ , but he didn’t want to ruin the…mystery? He hadn’t even told Arya yet and only figured the fact that she was mostly sleep deprived these days for not figuring out he was hiding his crush—if that’s what it was, sounded so middle school—on Dany from her.

Dany took a quick swallow of her coffee, her smile fading momentarily and then she crooked her eyebrow up, smirking. “Dr. Daenerys Targaryen.”

 _Targaryen_.

“Oh,” he exclaimed, laughing momentarily, until he flashed back to the plane, where she’d been so defensive over the dragons, laughing at the book he’d been reading about the family, and her knowing smirk. The photo of her brothers, their silver hair and violet eyes, speaking Valyrian…the ruins…He gaped, the rug pulled right out from under him. “You’re a Targaryen?”

“Aye,” she murmured, mocking his accent. She narrowed her eyes, trying to keep smiling, but he could see the panic in the way her eyes strained, the lines forming in her forehead. “I am. My brothers and I are the last.”

He could only drink some more coffee, processing that factoid. It was interesting, to say the least, and definitely made him more abashed in his complaints over the book and his dismissal over the dragons. He chuckled, shrugging, and lifted his gaze back up to her, voice soft. “I never did finish that book you know. Too dry. Too boring. How can you make dragons boring?”

It was his way of telling her it was alright, he wasn’t put off by it, and if anything, sought amusement from it. She understood, laughing on exhale, leaning her elbows forward onto the table. “Well that’s good, because right? How do you make dragons boring?”

“I know one who made a five-hour flight very….” He trailed off, fumbling, finding the words. “Not…boring.”

Dany was grinning, her eyes twinkling, jeweled amethysts in her pale skin and contrasting sharply with the shiny silver hair. She twirled her coffee cup around a moment, studying it, and then looked back over to him. He wasn’t sure what to say now. Thankfully, she spoke first. “You know Jon Snow, I have to get back to work, but…” She shrugged, reaching up and affixing her mask again. He stood quickly, in time with her, and she moved towards him, toe-to-toe, lifting up. His stomach plummeted to his boots, hoping he hadn’t messed this up, wondering how best to ask her to dinner—not that there was anywhere they could go—or whether she even had time to take to get dinner. Dany was still smiling, lifting up onto her toes, voice soft. “I’m not sure how dating in times of a pandemic are supposed to go, if I should ask you to get tested or something before our first kiss…”

_First kiss!?_

“But this will have to do until we can figure it out.”

And then she leaned forward, mask-to-mask, and kissed him gently, similar to how she had in the airport, but as close to his lips as she could get. He grinned, watching her drop her heels back to the floor, and he reached for her, tugging her against him, eyebrows lifting. “I think we can figure it out,” he mused, still smiling. He took a deep breath, about to say they could get dinner, when she interrupted him again, a habit she seemed to have.

“My friend Doreah said something to me once, I’ve been taking it into consideration a lot, not able to see my patients faces, only their eyes.” Dany’s face smoothed out, serene. She patted his chest. “Love comes in the eyes, she says.”

 _Love_.

He felt warm everywhere, squeezing her hand and letting go when she reluctantly moved towards the door. She tossed another look over her shoulder. “See you later Jon Snow.”

“Later,” he breathed, dazed. He laughed, the door swinging shut, and nodded, understanding completely. Yes, that’s exactly what it was. He reached into his pocket and took out his phone, sending a fast text to Arya.

_I think I’m in love and I’ve only really seen her eyes. Long story. Talk to you later._

He ignored the constant buzzing immediately after that text, and left, counting down the seconds to when his shift was over and mentally noting to thank Jeor for sending him on a trip during a pandemic.

**fin.**


End file.
